the bus stop

by Olivia Ardine

The bus was late.

I hate when the bus is late, it throws my entire day off schedule, even the slightest differences or variations can cause everything to spiral into chaos. That is why there are systems in place, and rules and regulations to keep everything running smoothly, to prevent chaos. Everything was a gear working in this great machine, and if one gear stopped working, the entire system could collapse. This one bus being late could mean I am late to work, and if I am late to work, then I don't get enough work done for the day, and if I don't get enough work done for the day, then other departments cannot do their work properly. Everything hangs in the balance, even from the smallest of actions.

I am going to report this bus driver, I thought to myself as I stood in the freezing cold. It was now midwinter in Chicago, so I stood at this bus stop every morning in two feet of snow. Usually, I expect to stand in the cold for exactly two minutes. I get to the bus stop promptly at 7:33 a.m., as does everyone else on the bus. That is the requirement; all buses arrive at 7:35 in the morning at their designated stops, and therefore it is expected that everyone arrives promptly two minutes early. This is the ideal time to arrive for a bus; the government declared it, and I agree. In winter arriving two minutes early means you only have to endure the cold for two minutes; this is not even enough time for the snow to seep through your boots and into your socks, making you cold for the rest of the day. And in summer, two minutes is not enough time to work up a sweat from the heat. So, I know that arriving two minutes before the bus is ideal. However, the tardiness of this incompetent driver messes up the whole system. I arrived five minutes ago and am still waiting; the snow is slowly infesting my boots and making my socks wet and cold. Great, I’m going to be freezing cold all day long thanks to this fucking bus being late. And if I am cold all day, then I could get sick, and that is simply unacceptable because then I would miss work, and missing work means I could get fired, and then everything in my life could spiral out of control.

Control. I think that is the key to society functioning properly, and the government agrees with this idea. That is why they implemented these schedules, to ensure that everything stays under control, including people. People who are uncontrollable, like this dumb bus driver, are flaws in the system and are a danger to the functionality of society. If everyone functions the same, then there will never be any chaos. Everyone is assigned their role in society, their schedule, their lives essentially, and it is our job as citizens to follow it. In return the government protects us and provides for us. Everything in life has to be a give and take, and I am willing to sacrifice some control for a life of comfort and security. And any reasonable person would think the same.

Glancing around me, the people at this bus stop agree with me; that is why we were all here at 7:33 in the morning to go to our assigned jobs and play our role in the community. There are fifteen of us who ride this bus every morning. We all work at the same office, in different departments, of course. We all work at New Age Reporting; we are responsible for ensuring the general public stays informed, safe, and most importantly controlled. I work in management, approving all of the news stories and highlights every day. Of the people at the bus stop, I am at the top of the food chain. Then there are Gary, Matt B., and Grace; they all work as the news anchors, the faces of the company, I suppose. They get too much credit, though. There are also Teddy, Alan, Bruce, and Rose, who work in production and editing. We also have several script writers and story finders like Dan, Matt W., Kara, Mike, Preston, and Miller. And last on the bus there is Kyle, who works in janitorial. And that makes 15 of us on the bus, 15 of us patiently waiting in line for a bus that is now nine minutes late, freezing our asses off in knee-deep snow. Except I'm certain I counted 16 of us waiting for the bus today.

I did. There was a sixteenth mystery person waiting at the end of the line. He wasn't even really in line; he was sitting on one of the benches off to the side. He was a very peculiar man, sitting off to the side by himself in a bright orange coat and rainbow knitted hat. Those colors are not approved for corporate work; he will definitely get reported for that. As he sat there, he slumped down further into his seat so that his figure just became a blob of orange and rainbow colors. What was most peculiar was he was smiling, what seemed to be a genuine smile. I could think of no reason for him to be happy right now; it was cold and miserable outside, and the bus was late. Clearly, he had no regard for the rules or order of society, because anyone who does would be greatly disturbed by the tardiness and unprofessionalism of this situation. I realized too late that I was staring directly at him, and he must have noticed, because he slowly stood up from his slumped position and approached me, cutting the entire line, I might add. Interactions with strangers were not permitted during these hours, a safety feature imposed by the government two years ago that really helped cut back on unwanted side chatter: no conversations with strangers between the hours of 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. To avoid this unwanted interaction and the breaking of a vital rule, I quickly turned away in hopes that I could block out his presence altogether.

I was wrong. He came up and stood right beside me.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” he said.

I sighed. “Not really, the bus is late,” I replied.

“Well, I don't mind waiting for a bus if it means I get to enjoy this beautiful view in the morning. I know it's a bit cold and snowy, but I really do like the snow, I like how the sun reflects off of it and it shines,” he smiled and looked as though he was waiting for a reply. I gave him none. “I used to live on the west coast ya see, and we didn't get much snow there, so this is a nice change for sure. I’ve already made snow angles and snowmen with my kiddos.”

I avoided all eye contact with him. “The snow is just an inconvenience, not fun, just like the bus being late.”

“Ohh yea, I do understand that. I bet you've gotta get to some sorta fancy job. Don’t ya?” he questioned.

I didn't like his questions. “Yes. I do, actually, and I'm going to be late.”

He moved to stand closer to me. “That must be tough, I would also hate being late to work, I know when I used to have a job I always wanted to be on time.”

I just nodded; I didn't want to associate with someone who didn't have a job and didn't follow the rules. But, I could feel him staring at me still, as if waiting for me to respond.

“So where are you headed then,” I asked, feeling obligated to at least conclude this conversation.

“Same place as you, I'm going to the New Age Reporting Company, I have a job interview there today to be a script writer,” he explained. I could not hold in my shocked expression, as a member of management I would never let someone like him work at New Age, absolutely not.

“My family and I just moved here, and I am trying find a new job, the government didn’t approve my move over here and so they never reassigned me a job you know so I can provide for my kids,” he said as he pulled out his wallet to show me pictures of his children. “Aren't they adorable? this is Jack and this is Carol,” gesturing to the pictures.

“Yes, they are cute,” I admitted. “But how can you ever expect to get a job if you didn't comply with the government's orders?” I was done being nice, this guy needed to know that his actions were in the wrong.

He looked shocked. “Well, I only disobeyed the government because one of my kids, Jack, is really sick right now and the only good hospital for his condition is here in Chicago, and so we had to move.”

I looked closer at the photo of Jack, still in my hand, and looking closer I saw the signs of sickness, dark under eye bags, pale skin, redness around his mount, and scars on his arm likely where IVs were placed from previous hospital visits. I slammed his wallet closed and handed it back to him, not wanting to look at the sickly child any longer. I must admit, I was perplexed why the government wouldn't approve a controlled move, but surely there must have been a reason for it.

“Well, I hope you can get the treatment,” I said. “And good luck with the job interview,” he definitely needed some luck.

“Thanks,” he said as the bus slowly pulled up to the stop screeching to a halt in front of us.

Finally, I thought, now I could get to work and get out of this uncomfortable conversation. I turned away from this peculiar individual and his sickening orange coat, and I boarded the bus. I stopped on the top step for a moment, taking note of the driver's name. Daniel Walker, I will remember that name to report him later; 15 minutes late is unacceptable. I made sure to sit in the first seat, the one with no partner chair, so I could enjoy my solitude. I watched as everyone else boarded the bus and filed into their respective seats. When the man in the orange coat got on the bus, he looked disappointed that there were no seats near me, but I did not really care. Now that I was on the bus, my attention was brought to my soaking wet socks and my cold feet – what an uncomfortable feeling. I will bring a pair of socks with me in the future just in case there is incompetence like this again. I let out a sigh and accepted that my morning was just meant to unravel into chaos, and all I can do now is control the rest of my day.

The trip to work usually takes 23 minutes exactly, if the bus was on time. Today it took 34 minutes because of the additional time added due to red lights: because of the initial delay, none of the light cycles were synced to our route, and so we were late, very late. There was no service on the bus; if there was, I would have gotten a head start on my work for the day. Instead, I simply set my head against the window and viewed the terrain. I spent several minutes observing my surroundings, which is several minutes more than I usually do. The roads of the city seemed shiny with the icy covering of the snow, and the buildings of the city towered over the bus, reminding me of an odd sort of forest. I haven't been to a forest in years, probably since my dad took me camping when I was seven. I’m not even sure forests even exist anymore, maybe cities are the closest we will ever get. The whole steel forest was coated in snow, and it sparkled. I have never really seen the snow sparkle like that; maybe the guy in the orange coat was right, I suppose it is pretty. I spent the whole trip staring out the window. I have taken this route every day for the past 11 years but never really noticed any details of this place, of my home. Then, the most peculiar thing occurred – I fell asleep.

I have never fallen asleep on a bus, and I promised myself I would never fall asleep on a bus again. But, this day in the middle of winter, the worst day of my career thus far, I fell asleep. And not only did I fall asleep, but I also had a dream. I was in a forest, not a steel forest but a real forest, like the kind that I remember when I was seven. There was snow on the ground, just like there was in reality. The sun was rising above a nearby mountain, casting a gold hue on the surroundings and causing the snow to sparkle with every color of the rainbow. It was pretty, and it was quiet, and it was natural, and I built snowmen, and made snow angels, and rolled down hills, and it felt real. But it wasn't real, and it would never be real. I realized that when I was woken up by the man in the orange coat. He gently shook me awake, explaining that we had arrived at the New Age building. I nodded and thanked him as I gathered my things and left the bus.

The New Age building was cold and industrial, a sharp contrast to the dream I had just awoken from. I don't really remember the last time I had a dream: it was beautiful. But it was also a distraction from work, and I was quickly brought back into reality when I entered the industrial building and was immediately flooded with papers, questions, comments, and scripts to approve. I had to focus; I was here to do a job, and just because the morning was unnecessarily hectic and unplanned doesn't mean the rest of the day has to be. I listened closely to all of the comments and complaints and properly collected the necessary paperwork before I locked myself in my office for the rest of the day. I had to work overtime for the first few hours to make up for the time I missed, but by 11 a.m. I had caught up completely, and the rest of my day was on track. I was determined to get everything back under control and to maintain my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. This, unfortunately, did not happen.

I got a call from my supervisor at 12 p.m. asking me to conduct a last-minute interview because the other managers were called to monitor the set production. The meeting would be scheduled for 1 p.m. I was reluctant to accept at first, because at 1 p.m. I had already scheduled myself to go over the script for next week's show. I explained this to my supervisor, and he was not sympathetic to my cause and insisted I do the interview, or I would get written up. Why was no one considerate of the rules and schedules today? Now, I had to push my whole day back by an hour; this could spiral things out of control yet again.

1 p.m. arrived, and I walked out to the lobby to collect the unlucky person waiting for an interview. I called out the name on my sheet, Adam Walker, and I looked up to see the man in the bright, ugly orange coat. I stood there shocked for a moment; I did not expect to see him again ever, much less be conducting his interview. I had already made up my mind that he was not getting the job, so this entire charade was completely useless. He walked toward me slowly, having the same clearly shocked expression.

“You can follow me this way,” I gestured, and he followed.

We arrived at my office; I allowed him to enter, and I closed the door. I walked over to my desk and sat down, gesturing for him to do the same.

“Oh, feel free to take your jacket off,” I said as I pointed to the coat stand in the corner. I really wanted him to take that hideous thing off.

“Thanks,” he responded and removed his jacket, revealing an equally ugly sweater that looked as though a child had made it. It was bright purple, with flowers and spaceships sewn into it, very poorly, I might add. The edges of the sweater were fraying, and the sides of the images were slowly peeling up.

Against my better judgment I commented on its appearance. “What an interesting sweater.”

“Oh yes,” he laughed. “My children made it for me, and I promised them I would wear it today for good luck.”

I felt my chest tighten as I remembered the picture of his sickly little boy and the story he told me about him having to move all the way across the country at the risk of his family's income and status. I don't know what it was about this little boy that made me so uncomfortable. I suppose for the first time, I thought the government had failed, but that was impossible.

I had to get myself out of my head. “So, I guess I am conducting your interview.”

“Yes, it looks that way,” he responded.

“I learned a lot about you this morning talking to you outside waiting for the bus. I must say you are an interesting person.”

“Well, I would say you are an interesting person too. I learned a lot about you too, you know.”

“Oh really? What did you learn about me? I barely talked.”

“I learned that you are a stickler for the rules, to the point that you don't really enjoy life or even look for ways to enjoy life because you are so caught up with following orders,” he exclaimed. “And I learned that you are a very judgmental person who does not actually care about others unless they are behaving exactly the way you want them to. I already knew from this morning that you didn’t like me and that I made a bad impression on you.” He got quiet for a second before continuing in a more respectful voice. “So, that's what I learned… Sir.”

I sat there for a moment with my mouth agape. “What made you think that you could ever talk to me that way, and you do know this is your interview, not mine, right? It doesn't matter what you learned about me; this is about you,” I said angrily.

“Yessir, I know, sir. I don't really know where that came from; I'm sorry. I just figured from this morning that I am not gonna get this job anyways, and so I thought I should just tell you how I felt,” he said.

I just stared at him. His appearance somehow soothed my anger slightly. He looked at the ground, scared and hopeless, and I felt bad for him, which was a relatively new emotion for me. His eyes were glossy, filling with tears slowly, giving them the reflective appearance of the freshly fallen snow. Looking at him reminded me of my dream. I had pushed it down for my day at work, but being with him somehow seemed to bring me back to reality; only it wasn’t really reality, I'm not completely sure anymore.

“Thank you,” I said, getting tired of the silence.

“What?” he asked.

“For waking me up on the bus this morning.”

“Ohh, yes, of course.”

“You know, when I was sleeping, I had a dream, the first dream I can remember in a year,” I admitted. “I was in a forest covered in snow, playing, frolicking, living, and it was beautiful. I felt like I should tell someone, and you seemed like a good person to tell.”

“That sounds like a nice dream,” he said.

We sat there in silence for a while.

“You're right, you know, I didn't like you this morning, but I also don't think I liked anything this morning,” I explained.

“That’s what I thought,” he explained disappointedly.

“But, something about today showed me I should appreciate things more; there was something in the chaos of today that felt more natural than reality,” I said as he sat and stared at me. “So, I want to hire you and give you a chance, give your family a chance, and give your son a chance too.”

“Wait, what?” he asked. “Are you serious!? Thank you so much; you won’t regret it.”

“I know I won't,” I said.

I left work that day somehow more satisfied than usual, feeling like I had done something good for the world. This was not a feeling I had daily, not a feeling I experienced by following the schedule. I got on the bus to go home that evening, and I looked out the window admiring the sunset over the city. The bus arrived at the bus stop a few minutes late, and today I didn’t even notice. Snow was lightly falling, giving the world a nice beautiful chill. I exited the bus and slowly meandered back to my house. My sidewalk and front lawn were completely covered in snow when I arrived. Normally, I would be annoyed by this, but today it was different; today the snow was beautiful, not an inconvenience. I imagined myself in the forest scene once again, surrounded by snow and lush greenery. I remember making snow angels and snowmen, having fun, and enjoying life. I proceeded to lie down in my steel forest, feeling the cold snow press against my back. I stretched out my arms and legs, and for the first time in years, I made a snow angel. I spent the whole evening playing outside in the snow, making snowmen, making snow angels, and taking in the beauty of the steel forest that surrounded me. The neighbors stared and made comments to each other. But I did not care, because the world did not fall apart today when the system broke; instead, the world grew. And that night, I went to bed happy, and I dreamt.

Photo of Olivia Ardine

BIO: Olivia Ardine is an emerging writer and first year student at the University of Nevada Reno. She is a biology major but is also passionate about writing and reading.